


Wild-wild West

by genmitsu



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Concealed Gun, M/M, Making Out, Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25089907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: Part of the #SixDrabbles challenge.Prompt: "make it wild and western-y".
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Wild-wild West

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Дикий-дикий Запад](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838247) by [genmitsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu). 



> Original prompt by yuginthegreat

“Oh, Sheriff Gordon, I’m so glad to find you here.”

Jim sighs heavily and looks up from his paperwork. Of course, there’s Cobblepot standing there in the doorway, smart and sharp even though he’s wearing all black and it’s already evening. Not a speck of dust on his boots, his shirt is crispy and white, the tie is quite fancy… and there’s that smile as well, and just the kind that makes Jim wonder if this son of a bitch is sincere or if he’s pretending.

“Did you want something, Mister Cobblepot?”

He arrived to his town about a week ago and already managed to charm everyone. The ladies went crazy about this elegant gentleman, always impeccably polite and fashionable, and so different from the usual rough mugs in the streets. But he also managed to charm those rough ones as well, somehow, to Jim’s greatest surprise. They were simple people, not particularly interested in elegance or anything, and yet they were following him in droves, hanging on his every word, and welcoming him to any company or party. Jim, instead, doesn’t trust him at all - his bright eyes tend to look a little too perceptively at times.

“Yes, a matter of great importance, my dear friend,” Cobblepot slithers into the room and takes great care to lock the door behind him, almost pointedly, before coming closer to Jim.

Jim, of course, rose up to greet him, cursing that damn Southern courtesy in his blood, and now they’re standing so close, a lot closer than could be polite or appropriate or anything. This, too, is irritating. Cobblepot is always, always too close, always looking with too much interest, and it’s not like he’s trying to get Jim to like him - but Jim ends up thinking about him almost constantly, and not all of these thoughts do him credit as a sheriff and a gentleman.

“What kind of matter, Mister Cobblepot?” Jim asks, trying not to look at him too closely, as if knowing he’ll be lost if he does. But anything of Cobblepot’s Jim can look at throws his mind into turmoil.

“I have to admit that it was only today that I’ve learned about the strict ban on the firearms in your beautiful town… and I have been violating this ban all this time, and it was so important to you and the rest of the citizens.”

“You have a firearm on you?” Jim raises his eyebrows. Of course, every sensible person carries one now, especially if they venture outside the civilised settlements - this is what lead to a lot of problems and the reason for the ban in the first place. Enforcing the ban took a lot of effort from Jim. “You could just submit it for keeping right now, and that’s all.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy, Sheriff Gordon…” Cobblepot’s voice is practically raw silk at this point. “You see, I cannot recall where I put it…” He lowers his gaze in embarrassment, allowing Jim an opportunity to look at his lashes. By God, they’re so long and velvety, and prettier than Jim had seen on anyone in his whole life.

“Excuse me?”

“You will have to frisk me, Sheriff Gordon…” and he flashes those green eyes of his from under those velvety lashes, and Jim’s throat dries up immediately.

“Is… Is that necessary?” he somehow manages to croak.

“I’m afraid it is,” Cobblepot is looking bashful again, like an innocent maiden, but any Gotham maiden would rather die of shame than suggest what he did. “I cannot recall it at all, not an inkling.”

“But, you will probably be changing, so…” no, no, he can’t think about it at all, he’s already blushing to his ears.

“Sheriff, are you implying you would join me then?” he raises his gaze at Jim again, piercing and absolutely lacking any of the bashfulness that Cobblepot tried so hard to impress on Jim. “How… bold.”

“No, I…” Jim bites his tongue, trying not to voice what he’s thinking about.

“But I wasn’t planning on going back to my rooms so soon,” Cobblepot continues. “So I would be walking around armed all through the evening, violating your direct order… This cannot be acceptable to you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“True…” Jim breathes, noticing Cobblepot standing even closer. When did he manage that? “But maybe you’ve decided to pull a prank at my expense, and you don’t actually have a firearm on you?”

Really now, where could he hide an actual gun and _forget_ about it?

Cobblepot stands on tiptoes and almost presses into Jim to whisper in his ear.

“I do.”

Jim is doomed, he must be doomed, he’s caught in a trap by this devilish outsider, and the trap is too sweet to seek salvation. Jim wants anything but salvation. So he accepts the challenge.

“In this case, Mister Cobblepot, I do have to search you.”

If it was anyone else, Jim would’ve given him a brief pat-down, nothing special, he’d check the most likely spots, he’d probably find a firearm under his frock coat and be done with it. With Cobblepot, Jim is almost tentative, as if trying his best not to offend. He glides his hands softly over his arms, lightly touches his back and his sides, and arrives at his hips with a gulp. Cobblepot watches him, his cheeks slightly blushing, and it feels as if he inches closer to Jim’s touch - he keeps completely still, but Jim can’t quite shake that feeling. Jim kneels in front of him, trying not to stare at his crotch, right in front of his face, and he tries to pretend he didn’t hear that soft sigh escape Cobblepot’s lips as he trails his hands over the length of his legs.

“You seem to be making fun of me after all, Mister Cobblepot,” Jim stands up again, flushing. “You do not have anything on you.”

“Sheriff, I’m not making any fun. Or are you trying to accuse me of lying?” his stare is sharp and heated, and almost irritated. “Don’t dawdle. You’re not a blushing maiden, and neither am I.”

“That so?” Jim crowds him against his desk, almost pressing him into it with his own body, and something sparks inside from the way Cobblepot is looking at him. He’s riling him up, like always, provoking him…

Into making his touches more firm and deliberate, into pressing closer as Jim pats his back - and Jim loses his head when he feels the hot puff of Cobblepot’s breath on his neck, and he puts his hands on Cobblepot’s hips, not for a search now, but to feel his hot body closer. He’s so excited and aroused, like he always is in his presence, and he’s about to moan from their current proximity. Jim bites his lip again, trying to hold it back. He shouldn’t do this, it’s inappropriate…

“James…” Cobblepot breathes out, barely audible, looking up at him. His eyes are magnetic, and so, so dark, and his hands are suddenly on Jim’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

His lips are surprisingly soft, but insistent and assertive, and used to the initiative. Jim obeys him at first, but he craves more, so he pushes himself between Cobblepot’s legs and slips his tongue inside his hot mouth. Cobblepot seems to turn into jelly at such blatant liberties, and he moans and leans into Jim, matching him.

Jim trails his mouth lower, over his jaw and to his neck, almost completely covered by a stiff collar, and it’s not enough, especially when Cobblepot throws his head back to allow Jim more freedom. The collar has to go, and the tie too, so Jim pulls at the knot hurriedly, trying to loosen it, and suddenly he touches something cold and rigid, with distinctive ridges.

“Ah, so that’s where it was,” Cobblepot comments, unperturbed, as if it’s not him sitting on the edge of the desk with his knees pushed apart and his lips red and puffy from kisses. “It’s so tiny, no wonder I forgot about it.”

There’s probably the tiniest revolver in existence lying in Jim’s palm. He’s never seen anything like it before, nor does it look like anything the folks around town might carry. There is no barrel, no trigger, it seems to consist only of a cylinder and a ring which probably serves as a grip. It probably shoots poppy seeds.

“I’m accepting it for keeping,” Jim says. “Do you want a receipt?”

“Oh, but I trust you completely,” Cobblepot licks his lips, so wonderfully red, and tries to slip off the desk which results in him pressing his whole body against Jim’s. “I shouldn’t keep you from your duties any more…”

“Stay,” Jim says, immediately husky, and his hands are on Cobblepot’s waist again, sliding lower, squeezing. “I prefer following things through once I start, Mister Cobblepot…”

“Oh…” he strokes Jim’s cheek and smiles. “For you I’m just ‘Oswald’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oswald's gun was this, Le Petit Protector  
> [](https://imgur.com/S0aROSF)  
> It's a totally working model, it shoots real bullets and everything. It won't inflict any considerable damage unless you're up close and shooting at something soft though.


End file.
